


Something Undefined

by InAmongstTheMountains



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 14:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4525992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InAmongstTheMountains/pseuds/InAmongstTheMountains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was something about the years and the darkness that allowed a brief glimpse of vulnerability, and of something neither wished to define. Post Game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Undefined

“You’ve got that look on your face again.”

Brynn rolled over under the furs. In the low torchlight her eyes glowed as blue embers, russet hair, undone from her braids, stuck to her neck and breasts still sweaty from sex. She ran her hand down her lovers arm, glancing down then up to meet his somber expression. “What are you talking about Brynjolf?”

The old thief cocked a brow, starting the tired game they always seemed to play, lacing his fingers with hers to hold her hand there. “You know the one lass, where you’re brooding and your care comes out.” 

With a scoff Brynn sits up, brushing her hair out of the way. He caught her, as he usually did, the one damn man in Tamriel almost as sharp as she was. “It wasn’t anything.” She said, her free hand tracing the line of his jaw before she kissed him. A distraction and they both knew it, but he returned her lips and breath with a kiss of his own that edged on something just over lust that had never been defined. Brynn moved to take her fingers from his, but he held fast. Finally breaking apart, Brynjolf lean in, as if wanting more then composed himself; his expression remained cool and intent. 

“Froija…” He started, and Brynn visible tensed at the ring of her real name in his husky tone; he wasn’t going to relent tonight. “What have you to tell me?”

How long had they known each other? Eight years as Nightingales, running the thieves guild, a roguish entrepreneurship as Byrnjolf put it. Almost the same span of sharing a bed. Brynn couldn’t describe what it was she trusted about Brynjolf, enough that he alone knew her secrets, her history, her true name. How often did they go months, years, without seeing each other? Months of other partners, other lovers, of schemes and motions set in plan, only to comeback together with heated tongues, a need in their bodies as if it had been days? She didn’t love him, she didn’t love anyone, and he knew that. But here they were, in the dark, so many secrets laid bare, an odd devotion neither wanted to define between them.

The two watched the other for a silent while before she replied. “You remember the last time we were together?”

“Aye, a year ago wasn’t it.” A frown creased his forehead, “You told me High-King Ulfric’s second son was actually mine.” 

Brynn nodded. How odd was it for her to be reminded she was Queen of Skyrim? Long years of painstaking effort and control, she reveled in her influence, yet with Brynjolf, she never reflected on it, it didn’t seem to matter. “I had another. A daughter.”

A shadow crossed his face, reflected in the twitch of his mouth and the narrowing of his eyes. “Had?” The answer weighed between them, already known. 

“Miscarriage. The healer though it would have killed me.” 

Where usually a light quip and a teasing flick of his fingers would have brought them away from such seriousness and back to the comfort of easy sex they enjoyed so much, his lips pressed in a deep line and he remained silent. “I’m sorry.” The words were rusty and awkward, genuine, but had to be forced if only to fill the silence in the dark. 

She shrugged, lying back on the bed and looked away. “It’s nothing, I don’t know why I brought it up. I’ve never been motherly, you know that.” She huffed, a half laugh with no trace of humor in it. “Your daughter might have been a princess, but I’m rambling, just forget about it.” Brynn pulled him towards her, dull nails digging into his side; an desire for anything but his conversation, her neck exposed in invitation. 

Brynjolf leaned over her, tilting her face back towards him as he kissed her cheeks in comfort. “The only princess I…” His voice caught, just a hair, so fleeting Brynn near missed it. “I want is you Froija.” The tenderness in his words and the touch of his hands as he climbed back on top of her surprised them both yet neither spoke of it: such was their way. She wanted him to make her forget for short while, he wanted to reprieve her. 

He took her hard at her urging: breathless wanting kisses, the squeeze of trembling muscled thighs, the slow dispelling of the melancholy in her glowing icy eyes. He came on her instead of within. And then they laid in silence, backs pressed together, neither slept, but neither spoke, rather willing the last flickering of the torch light to lull them into dreamless sleep.

In the morning, it was business as usual, with no chance and vulnerable looks across the cistern, and no mention of anything that had passed between them the night before. 

How funny. Brynn considered, gathering her possessions for travel, her bow, and take as Guild Master. If they were any other people, she and Brynjolf could love each other. They could have their own family, they could travel across Skyrim, they could laugh at their shared name, and not keep it all behind closed doors. Or maybe it was just her. If she was different, maybe she could love him.

“Leaving so soon?”

Brynjolf had a knack for knowing just when she was to leave. He wore his trademarked half smile, and casual confidence, only the glint in his eyes held a shard of severity.

She returned his cocky expression. “So many things to do, this country won’t run itself.” 

He chuckled convincingly, though it lacked amusement. “So I’ll see you sometime lass?”

“Yeah.” Just for a second, her lips unconsciously pulled into a somber, genuine smile. “I’ll see you sometime.”


End file.
